


Unexpected, Unknown

by Rianne



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Getting Together, Hockey, M/M, Pining, Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rianne/pseuds/Rianne
Summary: Jeff didn't expect to get traded to the Aces and go on a Cup run with them. And he definitely didn't expect to spend this much time thinking about Kent Parson.





	Unexpected, Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/gifts).



> Hey prompter! Hope it's to your liking. I know the Knights didn't make it this year, but maybe this will soothe the sting of that a little ;) I blatantly stole from the actual celebrations and the Caps' shenanigans at Pride, so feel free to project onto this fic as your re-imagination of the SC Final in which the Vegas team wins :D
> 
> Heads up: there's a scene in the beginning where a character is outed to another person. I went low on the angst as requested, but there's spoilery details in the end notes if anyone needs to make sure they're OK to read it!

**Las Vegas Aces** @LVAces · February 27

TRADE ANNOUNCEMENT: We have acquired RW Jeff Troy in exchange for prospect Alf Jennersen and a 2019 2nd round pick

 

**Las Vegas Aces** @LVAces · 2h

Jeff Troy SCORES to win it in overtime! Assist goes to Kent Parson

|

**Las Vegas Aces** @LVAces · 2h

This win means we’ve clinched our playoff spot!

\--

Jeff very, very rarely takes hook-ups to his hotel room. He doesn’t usually hook up at all when they’re on roadies—he usually makes sure he’s at home, where he knows what’s safe and what isn’t. He’s careful. He doesn’t give in to slightly-tipsy impulses. But with a three-point game to clinch their playoff spot, he’s earned it tonight.

The guy whose neck he’s kissing is short and blonde, and he clearly works out but there’s still a softness around his stomach and on his upper arms when Jeff runs his hands over them. His name is Tim, if Jeff remembers correctly. Tim groans and shifts against the hotel sheets when Jeff sucks on his skin just below his ear.

“I’m gonna blow you,” Jeff says.

“Fuck, yeah.” Tim leans up to catch Jeff’s mouth with his, and then he slumps back against the bed when Jeff kisses a trail down his chest. Tim had lost his shirt before Jeff pushed him down onto the bed, and Jeff is in just his boxers. He palms himself through them for just a second. It’s been a while—their schedule has been intense the past month, and the past few days he’d been too focused on clinching their spot to even pay much attention to himself.

He kisses Tim’s stomach just above the waistband of his jeans and reaches for his fly.

\--

It’s a while later when he’s letting Tim out of his hotel room. He feels sated and a little drowsy, which is maybe why he forgets to check the hallway before letting Tim through the door.

“Anyway, thanks,” Tim says, still doing up the last button of his shirt. “I’ll—Oh, hey.”

Jeff foolishly steps into the doorway and looks out to see who Tim is greeting, and it’s Kent—Kent who is standing in front of his own door with his key card already held out. Kent who is looking at Jeff, letting a random guy out of his hotel room at midnight, with raised eyebrows.

“Uh,” Jeff says. “Right. Bye.” He should be smoother, not try to rush through this, because it’ll only look more suspicious. But he’s tired and not entirely sober and now he’s also flustered and a little terrified.

Tim gets the hint. “See you,” he says, and disappears down the hallway.

Jeff fully intends to just go back inside and bank on Kent never bringing this up again. That’s what you do in the NHL when it comes to plausibly-not-straight teammates, after all. But of course, Kent says, “So…” and even though he doesn’t say anything else, now it feels rude to just ignore him.

“Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Good game earlier?” It comes out like a question. God, this is awkward.

Kent seems to deflate a little. He leans against the wall beside his door. “Right.” It’s quiet for a moment. Jeff opens his mouth to say something about heading to bed, but Kent is first. “You know this—” He gestures vaguely in the direction of where Tim just disappeared. “—is cool with me, right? Like obviously it’s cool with me. Of all people.”

“Right,” Jeff says. “Of all people, yeah. Okay. I’m gonna—I’m gonna go to bed.”

“’Kay,” Kent says. Jeff turns and is halfway into his room again when Kent says, “Hey.”

“What?” he says, defensive and wary.

“We made the playoffs.” Kent grins, and Jeff grins back, and it feels almost normal.

\--

The thing is, Kent has a reputation. Not a _bad_ one, really, just a fucking weird one. Maybe it’s because Jeff has only been here for two months, maybe it’s just some team dynamics thing that he doesn’t get, maybe it’s some inside joke that developed long before he got here. Either way, it makes Jeff uncomfortable.

He should be glad there are allies on this team. That none of them actually seem disgusted at the thought of having a gay teammate. His previous team hadn’t been perfect, in that regard—he thinks most of them would probably have been supportive, but a couple of them said some shitty stuff now and then. So it should be good that guys in his new locker room regularly proclaim how everyone can be themselves, and how love is love. He just doesn’t quite believe it—it feels over the top. And never more so than when it’s Kent and his whole Least Homophobic schtick.

Jeff had only been with the team for a few days when they’d had their Pride Night, and that had been the first he heard of it. All of them had used rainbow tape during warmup, but most had switched to regular tape for the game. Kent was re-taping his stick with more rainbow tape.

“Keeping the colors, eh?” Scrappy had said.

“Well, you know me,” Kent responded. Jeff looked up in time to see the impish grin on his face.

“Yeah, Scraps, you know Kent. He’s the Least Homophobic,” Cobby responded. Jeff could hear the capital letters.

“You’re damn straight I am,” Kent said, still smirking.

Jeff had put his headphones back in. But the joke keeps coming up, whenever anything LGBT-related came up. Apparently, Kent has a reputation as the best ally, and everyone on the team is in on it. And true, he _is_ supportive—never says anything rude about anyone, poses for selfies with queer couples whenever asked, he’s even dragged the team in various shades of discomfort to a gay club once after they won a game on a roadie.

But it still makes Jeff uncomfortable.

\--

The other thing is, Jeff has a crush on Kent.

\--

Jeff has had crushes on teammates before, but not since juniors. After juniors, he’d wised up and kept well away from any romantic or sexual thoughts about anyone in his locker rooms. He tries not to hook up with, let alone date, anyone who knows hockey at all. So it’s really pretty out of character that he’s been with the Aces for less than two months and he’s already pining.

Kent is just… sweet.

That’s probably the last word anyone would use to describe him at first sight. But Kent texts rookies to make sure they got home safe; he can look at Jeff with despair on his exhausted features when another fan calls his name and then turn to the fan with the kindest smile and offer to take a bunch of selfies; he’s constantly researching cat food brands that are even more luxurious than Kit’s current ones; he stuffs fifty-dollar bills in tip jars when he thinks nobody is looking.

And he’s easy on the eyes, too. Jeff is man enough to admit that.

\--

Jeff doesn’t actually talk to Kent in private until they’ve played the two other games on their roadie and their last pair of home games. After the regular season has officially ended, the team is out at a bar and Hoffer has just slid out of his and Jeff’s booth to grab himself another beer. Jeff sips his half-full glass and lets the music and conversations wash over him, until Kent slides into the booth beside him.

“Hey,” Kent says.

“Hey.” Jeff doesn’t like the intensity with which Kent is looking at him.

Kent takes a sip of whiskey. Jeff watches his adam’s apple bob and hastily looks away. He can’t—Kent knows his secret now, and Jeff will be damned if he makes Kent uncomfortable. It’s bad enough that one of his teammates knows. He stares at his glass as Kent says, “Sharks in Round 1, eh?”

“Eh,” Jeff mocks, looking up to meet Kent’s eyes. He can feel his lips twitch despite his nerves. “I thought I was the Canadian.”

Kent chuckles. “You are. You lot are just contagious.” He reaches out a little so his fingers brush Jeff’s, and Jeff has to simultaneously resist the impulse to pull his hand away and the impulse to grab Kent’s fingers. What is Kent even—“Hey, about last week at the hotel,” Kent says.

Jeff can’t help the stutter of his breath, or the way he sits up straight, his hand jerking away from Kent’s without his permission. “It was nothing,” he says.

“No, I just wanted to say—” Kent says. Jeff really doesn’t need to hear more about how Kent is the Least Homophobic, how he’s the best straight ally ever, how he’s not going to tell anyone. He believes that—he really does believe that his secret is safe with Kent. But he doesn’t need to hear about how good an ally he is.

“It was nothing,” he interrupts. “Let’s not talk about it. I should—I’m going to get another beer. I’ll just be a minute.”

He leaves his half-full glass and Kent in the booth. When he gets to the bar, he lets Benny convince him to do shots, and he doesn’t look back at the booth to see where Kent goes when Jeff never actually comes back.

\--

Kent keeps trying for a while. Half a dozen times, he walks up to Jeff somewhere at the rink with purpose in his expression, and Jeff has to find an excuse to run off. He doesn’t want to listen to hiss stupid crush assuring him it’s fine that he’s gay.  

Jeff hadn’t realized how close they’d become in a very short time, until he suddenly has to avoid Kent. That’s when it sinks in that he’s been spending several nights a week playing video games at Kent’s place. And that he and Kent have been texting a lot. Kent still texts him, but Jeff is worried that he’ll try again to make Jeff confess something, or try to talk about it at all, so he texts back less, and he misses it. That’s a bad, bad sign.

The playoffs keep him distracted, though. They beat the Sharks, but it takes them seven games, and there’s only two days’ rest before they have to take on the Kings. The Kings give them less trouble—it’s only five games until they’re in the Conference Finals, taking on the Jets.

Jeff is proud of how he hasn’t let this new weirdness between him and Kent affect their hockey. They’re still connecting on the ice, the Aces’ most effective line by far. Twelve games into the playoffs, Kent is at just over a point per game, and Jeff isn’t far behind.

He’s lacing up his skates in the locker room for the first Jets game when Kent sits down next to him.

“Hey,” Kent says.

Jeff glances up. Kent looks ready for warmups. He’s running his fingers over the tape on his stick, counting the number of times he’s wound the tape around the blade. It’s what Kent always does right before warmups, and it’s annoyingly endearing.

“Hey.” Jeff makes sure his skate is on perfectly and grabs the other one—right one first, then left one, as always.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it,” Kent starts, and Jeff resists the urge to get up and walk away. It’s a dick move to corner him when he’s doing his skates, because everyone knows it’s part of his routine and he can’t stop once he’s started. “So I’m not—I won’t bring it up again. I just want you to know I’ve got your back, you know?” He nudges Jeff’s knee with his own. The contact sparks something in Jeff even through their gear. It would be so helpful if he could stop being attracted to Kent fucking Parson.

He glances up at Kent’s face. Kent is looking back, and he looks sincere and a tiny bit worried. God, why does he have to be so sweet? Jeff doesn’t think this situation would _actually_ be better if Kent was a dick, but it sure feels like Kent’s earnestness makes things worse.

Jeff blows out a breath. “I know. Thanks, Parse,” he says.

\--

**Las Vegas Aces** @LVAces · 10d

Davidoff gets the shutout as we win the first game of the conference final 4-0!

\--

**Las Vegas Aces** @LVAces · 30m

The final buzzer has sounded!! Tense last minutes but WE WIN and move on to the STANLEY CUP FINAL!

\--

All of a sudden, they’re taking on the Caps for a shot at the Stanley Cup. About half the Aces have won it before, back when Kent wasn’t even twenty yet. But Jeff was in the AHL back then, and he’s never held the Cup. He falls asleep to thoughts of winning it, wakes up to thoughts of winning it.

The first two games are in Washington. They lose one, then they win one. Back in Vegas, there’s a day’s break before Game 3. They have practice, of course, but it’s a short one. Everyone is exhausted, though they’re trying not to show it. Jeff sprained his wrist two weeks before the end of the season and never gave it quite enough rest, and it’s aching more every day.

When Jeff gets home, he makes lunch—which is hard to cram down, he’s so tired, but he needs the calories. He collapses onto his bed and doesn’t wake until an hour and a half later, when his phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand. Jeff reaches over and unlocks the screen to see who needs to talk to him.

**Kent [2:57 pm]:** hey

**Kent [2:57 pm]:** kit wont cuddle with me anymore bc i keep squeezing her too hard

**Kent [2:57 pm]:** i think i might be stressed lol

**Kent [2:57 pm]:** anyway wanna come play some fortnite and blow off steam?

As Jeff looks at the screen, two more texts come through.

**Kent [2:59 pm]:** you dont have to

**Kent [2:59 pm]:** i know u dont rly wanna hang w me or w/e which is cool

Jeff lets his phone fall onto the pillow beside him and rubs at his face. Then he picks it up again.

**Jeff [3:01 pm]:** Gimme like 30 minutes I just woke up

He goes to Kent’s, and they play Fortnite and don’t talk about anything, and it’s easy and awkward and perfect and terrible.

\--

**Las Vegas Aces** @LVAces · 5h

Folks… game 6 is tonight… and if we win it, we WIN IT.

\--

There’s twenty-five seconds on the clock.

Twenty-five seconds.

The T-Mobile Arena is holding its collective breath as the ref skates into the face-off circle. Jeff can’t help but glance up at the scoreboard one more time. There it is: LVA 3 – 2 WSH.

Kent lines up with Kuznetsov. Jeff lines up with his guy, keeping an eye out for Washington’s sixth player. The empty space between the Caps’ goalposts beckons Jeff, if only Kent can win this faceoff and get the puck to him somehow.

Kuznetsov wins the faceoff. Jeff sticks to his man like glue until the sixth guy is suddenly open.

“Cover him,” Kent yells across the ice, and Jeff ducks to the side right as Wilson tries to get the puck to the open man. Jeff gets his stick in the path of the pass, and the puck slides to the side, right into Kent’s skates.

Of course, Kent has control of it in a second. “Move,” Coach yells from the bench, and Jeff doesn’t need to hear it twice. He’s already breaking out into the neutral zone, cutting in front of Kempny.

“Here,” he calls, but Kent has already made a move to duck away from the guy who’s trying to guard him, and the next second the puck comes speeding across the ice.

He considers one-timing it for a split second, but in the end he accepts the pass—better to wait for a more accurate shot. Kempny is with him, but there’s no goalie, there’s _no goalie._ He dekes; Kempny dives, trying to reduce his angle; Jeff waits and waits until he’s almost _in_ the goal, until Kempny is out of commission, and then he makes the most high-stakes wrist shot of his life, and the puck goes in.

Everything explodes. Kent actually knocks him over with the force of his hug, and then there’s a pile of teammates on top of him, and he can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter because he _scored_ and they’re _winning_ , they’ve _won_ , up two goals with less than five seconds on the clock.

It feels like long minutes before Kent is finally back in the faceoff circle, because they do still need to play those five seconds. Holtby is still on the bench, but there’s no way the Caps are going to score twice in five seconds even with the extra guy on the ice.

Kent wins the faceoff. He gives the puck to Benny, who takes it around their goal, and then the buzzer goes, and everything explodes again.

There’s confetti and yelling and fireworks and a giant pile of al his teammates skating out onto the ice. Everyone is yelling. Jeff is yelling, too, because _he won a cup he won a cup!_ It feels like there’s something trying to burst out his chest, like he can’t breathe, and it’s amazing.

Everyone in the crowd is cheering, a sustained roar that makes Kent’s “Fuck yeah, we did it!” only barely audible.

Voggy skates over for a hug, and Jeff knocks his helmeted head against Voggy’s when he sees that the guy is crying. It’s no wonder. Everyone on the team knows Voggy is going to retire this summer, and he’s never won the Cup before, having joined the Aces the season after they last won. Now, at 37, he’s done it after all.

“Going out with a bang, eh?” Jeff yells over the noise. Voggy grins at him, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Better late than never,” he says.

Kent throws an arm around Jeff’s shoulders then. “Liney!” he yells. His eyes are shining. He looks victorious and ecstatic and beautiful. “That was a wrist shot made in heaven, dude, fuck, we _won the Cup!_ ” Jeff’s cheeks hurt from how hard he’s smiling. Kent turns to Voggy and says, “I’m handing it to you, OK?”

Voggy stutters something that Jeff can’t quite make out.

“No, I am,” Kent says. “Dude, you’ve been my A for years, you deserve it.”

After a moment, Voggy nods, and Kent pulls Jeff away and into a crowd of celebrating players and staff. Jeff loses sight of him for a minute, until he realizes Kent is calling people to the handshake line.

The Caps all look understandably downcast, and Jeff is glad when he’s shaken all the hands and he can get back to celebrating. Someone pushes an Aces championship hat onto his head. Jeff has no clue when he lost his helmet—or did he take it off himself? He can’t remember.

There are still people cheering all around, and the noise keeps up as the Cup is brought onto the ice. Then the crowd quiets a little when Bettman says something about how they deserve this victory. “And now the Las Vegas Aces get to hoist the Stanley Cup!” he concludes. “Kent Parson, come on up!”

Kent skates out of the cluster of their team, lifts both his hands and spins once; Jeff can hear his yell of victory begin until it’s drowned out by the answering screams from the fans.

Bettman hands him the Stanley Cup, and then Kent is holding it over his head, and the noise doubles, triples, drowning out everything else as Kent skates in a circle, kisses the Cup, holds it up high.

He hands it to Voggy and Voggy hands it to Scrappy and then the goalie gets it and eventually (he was a playoffs loan, after all) the Cup ends up in Jeff’s hands. He feels like laughing and crying at the same time.

\--

He cycles between extremely drunk and extremely hungover for what feels like—and may, in fact, actually be—days on end. There’s parties and then more parties and some interviews and then more parties. There’s a parade through Vegas where they scream at fans and fans scream back. It’s colourful and ecstatic and so _Vegas._ He really, really hopes he’ll get to sign an extension here, because he’s only been here for a few months, but he already can’t imagine leaving.

\--

Vegas Pride is the Saturday after they win the Cup.

Jeff has mixed feelings about Pride. It’s par for the course, since he has mixed feelings about a lot of things related to his sexuality. He likes Pride, because he’s all for people being confident and proud of who they are. It’s just also kind of shitty to see everyone else celebrate that they’re out and proud, while he can’t see himself ever being publicly out.

He’s made his peace with that, but it’s still hard during Pride.

He contemplates this at eleven in the morning—he and a couple others were at a club until 4, so he only just woke up—when his phone buzzes beside him.

**Kent [11:09 am]:** u goin to pride?

And why the hell would Kent think he would go to Pride? He buries his face in his pillow. This is the problem with overeager allies—they try, but they don’t really get it.

Eventually, he steels himself and texts back.

**Jeff [11:17 am]:** nah

**Kent [11:18 am]:** aw

There’s nothing for a while. It’s the first day Jeff isn’t planning on celebrating with teammates all day, and it feels kind of odd. Thankfully, by the time he’s showered and feels halfway alive, he has more texts.

**Scraps [11:49 am]:** Yooooooo

**Scraps [11:49 am]:** I’m bored

**Scraps [11:49 am]:** Come over!!

Jeff grins at his phone.

\--

It’s nice to just hang with Scraps after so many days of exhausting celebration. Scraps pulls out the video games, and they only pause to get themselves new drinks and gloat over winning the last round of whatever game they’re on, and occasionally to remind the other that they won the Cup, and it’s fun. The problem is the selfies.

They start out on Instagram, which Jeff is foolish enough to check while Scraps is in the bathroom. From the looks of it, Kent dragged a half-dozen teammates with him to the parade. They’re wearing a mix of rainbows and Aces gear. Hoffer has a rainbow tutu and poses with a bunch of fans. Renzo and Yuks show up in just Aces gear, first, but then new pictures crop up of them with matching rainbows facepainted on their cheeks. Kent is wearing an Aces snapback, because of course he is, and he’s wearing a white shirt with LOVE IS LOVE in rainbow letters across the front.

Jeff swallows and closes Instagram before Scraps can get back.

It would be fine if it was just Instagram. But halfway through their next round, his phone starts buzzing, and when he gets to the kitchen to grab himself another beer, he has fourteen texts from Kent.

**Kent [2:34 pm]:** [PHOTO]

**Kent [2:34 pm]:** [PHOTO]

**Kent [2:34 pm]:** duuuude ur missing out

**Kent [2:35 pm]:** [PHOTO]

**Kent [2:35 pm]:** look at these rainbow shades i just stole from a fan

**Kent [2:35 pm]:** [PHOTO]

**Kent [2:35 pm]:** [PHOTO]

**Kent [2:41 pm]:** dude its fun here u shldve come!!

**Kent [2:41 pm]:** i miss the cup tho lol wish we cldve brought it

**Kent [2:46 pm]:** omg this fan has a cutout of the cup that helps look

**Kent [2:47 pm]:** [PHOTO]

**Kent [2:56 pm]:** Yuks just spilled beer all over my shirt lol

**Kent [2:56 pm]:** guess ill have to do without but its pride after all haha

**Kent [2:56 pm]:** [PHOTO]

In the last picture, he’s shirtless, a pride sash hanging over one shoulder, grinning at the camera with Yuks grimacing apologetically behind him. He looks vibrant and gorgeous and Jeff can’t stand it.

**Jeff [3:01 pm]:** Leave me alone

He puts his phone on silent. Scrappy either doesn’t notice his murderous expression when he gets back—without a beer, because he completely forgot why he went to the kitchen in the first place—or else he’s decided it’s best not to comment.

He feels shitty, but he gets through two more rounds of Fortnite and makes an escape without Scrappy asking him what’s up. Back in his car, he pulls out his phone again.

**Kent [3:03 pm]:** shit

**Kent [3:03 pm]:** sorry

Jeff looks back at his own extremely terse text from earlier. He heaves a deep sigh and rests his face on the steering wheel.

\--

He doesn’t hear from Kent the rest of the day. And he doesn’t hear from him on Sunday, either—Jeff goes out for another party with a couple of teammates, but Kent declines in the group chat and he doesn’t text or call Jeff.

It’s enough time for Jeff to start feeling guilty over his response, even though he really does feel that Kent should know not to have pushed him. But—Bless him, it’s _Kent_ , and Jeff knows he must have meant well. Just wanted to show his support, and all that.

On Monday morning he finds himself driving over to Kent’s without really thinking about it. It’s not until he’s standing in front of Kent’s house that he considers that this might be a terrible plan. Does he really want to escalate this? He knows Kent knows, but they haven’t talked about it, and if he brings it up now, they’re going to have to.

He doesn’t even know if he’s staying in Vegas. The Aces have said they’re happy with him, sure, and his agent is talking to them, but… What if he blows things up with Kent, and then he’s out of town next week?

He sighs and pushes the doorbell.

Kent blinks at him when he opens the door. It’s almost noon, but Kent clearly hasn’t been awake long. His hair is sticking up in every direction. It’s kind of adorable.

“Hey,” Jeff says.

“Hey.” Kent stares at him for a moment before he seems to shake himself. He steps back and lets Jeff through.

They end up on Kent’s couch, Kit winding around Kent’s legs until he gently pushes her away and she slinks off.

“Uh,” Jeff says. “I wanted to say sorry. For uh, snapping on Saturday, you know.”

“No, it’s fine. And sorry.” Kent looks genuinely contrite. “I know… I know it makes you uncomfortable. I just—sorry. I shouldn’t have sent the, uh, the Pride stuff.”

Jeff sighs, already feeling his frustration slip away. “It’s okay,” he says. “Just—you don’t have to be so performative, you know?”

Kent frowns at him. “What?”

“Like—” Jeff struggles for words. He doesn’t talk about this stuff much, let alone with guy friends, because there are almost none of those that he’s out to. “Like—It just feels like you’re trying too hard, you know what I mean?”

That doesn’t seem to have cleared things up. “No?” Kent says, after a pause. “I mean, no, I don’t know what you mean.”

Jeff rakes a hand through his hair. “I mean, fine, you’re supportive, that’s great. Congratulations on being the Least Homophobic and all that,” he says, and that’s definitely the frustration coming back. He tries to reel it in. “I just mean, I know you’re an ally. You don’t have to prove it. I just—I don’t like to talk about it, okay?”

“Hold up, hold up,” Kent says, suddenly sitting up straighter. “You think I’m an ally. You think—You think I’m _straight_?”

Jeff’s worldview shifts. He stares. “You’re—not?” he stammers.

“ _Dude_ ,” Kent says. “This explains _so much_.” He leans closer, excited and suddenly, tantalizingly available, even though this is no guarantee of anything.

“But the guys—” Jeff says. “Aren’t they—why—they make all these weird jokes. Does it not bother you?”

“What, about me being the least homophobic?” Kent smirks. “Nah, it’s cool, it’s just a joke. They’re all okay with it, anyway, so—”

“They _know_?” Jeff says, because he has _never_ contemplated being out to his team, not even in the Aces’ admittedly amazing locker room culture.

“Oh dude, yeah, it’s chill,” Kent says. “I mean, obviously we keep it within the team. I don’t really want all the drama, you know? But people don’t guess, anyway. ‘s why I can go to Pride. People just think you’re an ally.” He smirks. “I mean, _you_ thought that, so you understand. I need to talk to Scraps, he’s supposed to vet new guys and tell them so I don’t have to do the whole coming-out bullshit, but he obviously dropped the ball on this one.”

Jeff isn’t really sure what to say. He just kind of looks at Kent, who is animated and bright and _not straight_.

“Hey, you okay?” Kent asks, reaching out. His hand hovers over Jeff’s knee for a second before he pulls it back. Jeff swallows.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m—sorry,” he says. “For assuming you were straight, I guess.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Kent says breezily. “Well, I mean. It doesn’t happen to me much.” He smirks, self-satisfied.

Jeff wonders if that means Kent knew all along, even before that night at the hotel. “Right,” he says. Then, because he’s alone with a queer guy he’s been pining after for months, his brain runs away with him and he says, “So uh, do you—should we—I mean, not that just because we’re both gay we should—or maybe you’re bi, I didn’t even ask, I just mean, I think you’re—” He shuts himself up.

“Jeff Troy.” Kent’s smirk is teasing and impossibly fond. “Are you coming onto me?”

“Uh,” Jeff says. “Not if you don’t want me to?”

“You idiot,” Kent says, nudging Jeff’s knee with his own. “I’ve been flirting with you for months. You know that, right?” He grins at whatever look is on Jeff’s face. “So I guess you didn’t know that. Dude, I literally sat on your lap on the last flight back from Washington.”

“You’d do that to Scraps,” Jeff protests weakly, because he’d told himself that the entire flight.

“Trust me when I tell you I really wouldn’t.” Kent suddenly sits up on his knees and leans in. Jeff jumps when Kent’s fingers trace a path down his neck.

Jeff doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s usually more forward than this, but all of his confidence has evaporated for the moment. “No?” he says breathlessly.

“No,” Kent says. “And since you’re apparently very dense, let me just forewarn you that I don’t do _this_ to other teammates either.” He leans in even more and presses his lips to Jeff’s.

**Author's Note:**

> The scene in the beginning: Jeff lets a hookup out of his hotel room and Kent sees and realizes what's going on. Jeff deflects and they spend most of the fic pretending it didn't happen. 
> 
> Again, hope you liked it!! 
> 
> I'll throw in a link to my tumblr when authors are revealed :D


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